


The Cherokee Rose Lives

by thewickedone (JacobWhit)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Domestic Violence, Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacobWhit/pseuds/thewickedone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophia was a character with much potential. It was only her and Carl left, the only kids, both had mothers, and one fatherless. And then they killed her... WUMP.</p><p>I guess this is considered an AU; set during Season 3, a little while after the group has taken over the prison. Hershel's leg is cut off by this point, the prisoners (Dexter, Thomas, Axel, and Andrew) left have been exterminated, and the Governor was a part of Rick's group but went rogue after killing Dale. Non-canon, of course, but I like the idea of it! Adds a bit more depth to his character, don't you think?</p><p>Sophia is about 14 in this drabble, or potential series, and Carl is the same age. Judith is his older sister, and Lori died during the Walker take over that happened back at the farm months ago. She will be missed...</p><p>Let's commence with the story, shall we?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shadows of a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this idea for a while. why not start with it now?  
> as usual, mainly for poops, and cries, but it'll get better. i'll get better. i promise.

The morning had barely started. Sophia had just opened her eyes when she heard the first yell, the first glass bottle of beer breaking as it smashed to the ground. Her fathers loud and gruff voice wasn't far behind the noisy sound, and curse words were spewing from his lips that were surely stained with alcohol.

Her own blue orbs flickered open to the cobalt wall that met the tip of her nose. It was cold, the winter unrelenting in its six month fight. Oh how she wished Persephone would return! She heard more screaming, and closed her eyes, put her hands over her ears to drown the noise out, but no matter what she did, or how hard she tried to escape it, she couldn't. Not for the life of her. With her small and nimble fingers, she reached out for the thin sheets that covered her body, and pulled them all the way up to her shoulders. More screaming. Over her head the cover went. It was darker. Hell, even her eyes were closed, and the sheet would act as a barrier against the sound, or so she thought. She could still hear it, the arguing between her mother and father like two dogs after each other, but somehow can't get to one another. Maybe because their on a leash, or their masters are preventing them. Either way, she was stuck in the middle of it all, and was bound to be bitten.

The yelling and hollering became too much, and she was tempted to just throw the sheets off her body at once, storm out her room, and tell them how childish they were being, albeit being one herself. Blood rushed to her ears, creating a rhythmic drumming sound, and her cheeks became inflamed. She listened to them.

"You know damn well, Carol Peletier, that I don't like this cheap ass brand of beer! I swear to fucking God you did this on purpose, you bitch!" Ed shouted to the mountain tops as the rage inside him boiled to a heat so hot he couldn't contain it.

Sophia might as well have been there, because she could _see_ it, surely hear it; his hand raise, far and high, and swipe across her mothers face hard and fast. Her cheeks burned as if they had been touched with a prod, and she let out a loud cry, and fell to the ground. Sophia could hear her body make a _thumping_ sound as she hit the ground, hand pressed to her cheek, and tears flowing like a waterfall from her eyes. Sophia didn't know what to think, let alone do. She contemplated on doing the _right_ thing. Going to save her. That would be the right thing, wouldn't it? Shouldn't it? She knows all too well from past experience just how bad their fighting has gotten with her being in the mix.

One time, they had planned on going out for a Sunday breakfast, something they rarely did. Mainly because Ed would be too hung over to get off the bed, and Carol would be forced to make breakfast herself. If she had the ingredients. But on that particular day they were able to go. It was all good. They boarded their red 1999 Honda Accord and hit the road. They had gotten to the restaurant safely, had made their meals, and were burrowing into their food, nose deep, when Ed glanced over and saw Carol at the steak bar, chatting with some guy he didn't know. And neither did she. But he looked like a nice man; middle aged, a little stubble, short brown hair. To sum it up he looked much better than Ed, and Ed didn't like that one bit. When Carol had returned to her seat, plate with the well-done steak in hand, and a smile on her lips, surely from the memory of the man she was having a conversation with, Ed yanked her close to him so fast everyone around noticed, and stilled just like a statue.

He leaned in close, and put his lips to her ear, and asked, "What the hell was that?"

Carol's own blue eyes met others as they watched her, the fear in them spreading like wildfire. The attention was growing, and chills zipped up her spine. She shivered, but the slight movement only made it worse. Ed tightened his grip.

"People are looking," she whispered back to him. Her eyes went to Sophia and she saw her fear, too. Carol gave her a look - _that_ look - telling her not to intervene.

"I don't give a damn who's lookin' over here." Ed's voice was so low, so thick with anger that it sent a wave of terror through Carol's entire being. "Who was that man?"

Sophia was only nine. She'd seen them before. Her mother explained it as them just "playing around". But she knew good and well, had played with her friends on the playground enough to know that "playing" wasn't supposed to hurt.

"Dad," she spoke finally, and her mother's eyes dropped to the ground. Sophia had made a grave mistake. Ed didn't look to his daughter, and barely heard her, but heard something small and meek. "Dad," she repeated his name, this time with a bit of reverence, more fervently. Carol wanted to scream at her, to tell the girl to shut up, and that they'd deal with it later, but this was a battle neither of them could win. "Dad, you're scaring me..."

Ed heard her this time, and his eyes drifted across the surface of the semi-kept table, and to Sophia's eyes. He was seeing red. All of it was red. The snarl on his face stayed, and his teeth remained clenched as he spoke with a dark menace, "Stay out of this."

Not good enough an answer for Sophia. Not that day, not the next, not any. "But dad-"

All of a sudden he slammed his large, balled up fist on the table where everything on the surface of it, and everyone around, watching, observing, _jumped_. Sophia nearly leaped from her skin. "Goddammit, little girl, I know you heard me! I said stay out of this! This is grown folks business, and last time I checked you were a child!" His voice grew louder with every word, and the heat grew hotter as well.

Sophia could feel herself sweating; could feel the eyes on her, all of them, all around. She was zoned out. Ed said something to the people around them that were watching, but Sophia couldn't hear, she was still reeling from his vocal attack that occurred barely minutes ago. Becoming angry, her nose wrinkled, as it always did, like her mother, too, when she became annoyed, or eager. Her face that was plastered with freckles scrunched up, too. She was angry, embarrassed, mad, and sad. All of the emotions all at once. None of it was healthy. She needed to get out of there, out of the restaurant, out of the situation. In the heat of the moment, she kicked her chair out from under her, stood from the table, and stormed off from the area. The people surrounding them made a way for her and she barreled through. She could hear her father calling after her, but she kept going.

"Sophia Peletier, get your ass back here right now!" Ed hollered. Sophia continued to walk. She was carried solely by her anger, nothing  more. Had it been a different situation she would have obeyed. She wouldn't have said anything in the first place.

Even though her back was turned to him, she could feel the vibrations underneath her feet, a product of Ed's stomping. The air behind her shifted, and as soon as she turned around she was met with a palm full of hate, anger, and intolerance. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of a pain so unimaginable, so indescribable, she could only describe it as fire itself. She dropped to the ground, her mother screamed her name, and the long and skeletal fingers of darkness reached out for her, and she took its hand.

She was back in her room again, the memory over, but the arguing still there.

She wanted it to be over. She wanted it all to just be over. So she closed her eyes, counted to three, and it was.

Silence greeted her ears as her eyes flashed open to the blank walls of the cell she and mother claimed weeks ago. Her mother... her arms were wrapped around Sophia's small body, tight and secure, making sure she'd never get the chance to drift away. But, with nightmares like this, Sophia wanted to drift. She wanted to be away - alone. There was a bunk right above them, for anybody. Daryl, maybe, but he'd rather stay outside. Sophia wanted the spot but her mother wouldn't allow it. Eyes on her all hours of the day. She wasn't going to make the same mistake of letting the girl slip from her grips like she had done when the herd crossed the highway that day. Never again.

With expert quietness and minimal movement, Sophia found a way to _shift_ out of her mothers arms, and drug herself from her overbearing body; feet on the cold, cemented ground. Once free, breathing a sigh of relief, the girl swiped her stuffed doll out from under her mother, and began out the room, pushing the sheet that was acting as a curtain from the absence of a door out of her way, and as quietly as possible, made her way out of the room and into the main area of Cell Block C. Daryl's snores echoed throughout the narrow path, but another sound could be heard as well. The sound of something mechanical, maybe, with other small pieces behind it. A small breath, far, but close. She listened out some more, swiping a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear. There! With the silence comes something else, a voice, but more specifically a curse word.

The door to Cell Block C was swinging open just a little bit, and only Rick had access to the keys, but he wouldn't be awoke this time a night, especially when Judith got on to him a few weeks ago about overworking himself. He didn't like the lecture, but he needed it.

Sophia folded her arms, and tried her best to warm her own body as she approached the door to Cell Block C with much precaution. She slid through the small opening, and once her eyes rose from the ground, she saw Carl Grimes there, sitting at the table, trying his best to put together a gun. She knew he was trying his damnedest because his tongue was poking out and his brows had been brought together. She could barely see his eyes, though, thanks to his long greasy hair that was in the way of them. He needed a trim to say the least.

He hadn't noticed her. Not until she got up close. And when she did, he _jumped_ and cursed once more about how she scared him.

She giggled. "Seems so..."

Carl wasn't at all amused. He thought she'd had at least learned to warn somebody so he wouldn't accidentally shoot her, or something...

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" asked Carl, clearly agitated. He put down the broken gun all at once and groaned to himself. He'd been struggling for hours, and the tiredness could be read on his face.

"I could say the same about you, too." Sophia took a seat next to the boy, and tucked her stuffed doll in her lap.

Carl chuckled. Sophia's brows came together. "What's so funny?"

"You're still carrying that ugly thing around? I thought you lost it..."

She shook her head, glanced down at the toy, and smiled. "Never."

Silence overtook the room, and in that moment Sophia swore she found peace. Or at least something akin to it - security.

She leaned her head over and onto Carl's shoulder. She could _feel_ him shiver under the unexpected touch, and the smile on his lips, too.

She didn't move, and neither did he.


	2. Dandelion in the Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place about a month or so after the group finds the prison. 
> 
> If you read the previous chapter you'd know that this is a universe where Sophia is still alive. Hence the name of the story. And you'll also know that Lori died at the farm during its walker takeover, Judith is the older sister of Carl Grimes, and Michonne has not yet joined the group. Neither have the other future members of the Rick Team of Killing Machines (Tyreese, Sasha, Bob, and whoever I feel I'm leaving out :/)...

The morning light filtered through the weak sheets that were fill-ins for curtains, the sea of yellow blinding Sophia as it came in contact with those blue orbs of hers as she flickered them open. With a quick burning sensation, she shut them again, and cowered into her mothers arms that were wrapped around her lithe body. Her mother had felt her move, and her arms tightened around her, and her breath hit the back of Sophia's neck so gently, so softly, she shivered at the light touch of the warm air. Since the apocalypse, she's learned to cherish the moments that her and her mother share _that_ much more. Because it isn't only about how long they have, it's about surviving. Because that's what they do.

Opening her eyes the second time was a much smaller feat than it was the first. She watched the dust particles in the still air as they danced in the rays granted by the sun, and she caught, out of the corner of her eye, a color almost as foreign as a genuine relationship. And it was clear to her, as she refocused her eyes, lifting her body from the sunken in bed, that she was staring at the first dandelion of the spring. It was lying on the desk in front of their bunk bed, strategically placed upright, leaning on the photo of her and her mother than she'd managed to snatch right when the walkers took over the farm. Staring at the photo, the memory came back to her as if it were just yesterday.

Sophia and her mother were visiting Florida while Ed was off at some conference of his that had something to do with his job. She remembered her mother hesitating, worrying, scared of what might happen if Ed had found out. But she wanted to go so badly. She got her mother to write a long, drawn out letter to Ed, they packed up for one nights stay at some cheap motel, and left that evening. The air was warm, the light shined against the young girls freckled skin, the odd feeling of sand between her toes, and the saltiness of the ocean sticking to her tongue. And then it was all over. A new thought entered into her mind of something much more recent.

 _Carl..._ she thought as she sat there. She remembered their night. Her head on his shoulder, and his head on hers. She drifted off. That's all she could conjure up from the mysterious fog of nothingness that came after. Try to remember anymore and she'd get a migraine. Though she tried to drop it, more questions bombarded her brain, and she searched for answers that she knew she didn't possess. Had he carried her back to the room? Was he the one who dropped off the dandelion that seemed as if it were yanked from the ground, but coddled with care? The warmness that bubbled up inside her released in the form of a heat that expanded throughout her entire being. Was he the one who made her feel this way? Why did the simple thought of him do that? With her mind stuck on him, she began to think of the boy more and more. The freckles that decorated his face in splotches made her smile, the sheriff hat given to him by his father made her giggle, and the way his finger tapped his gun as it sat in its holster, as if it was burning his leg to be used, made her jump out of bed.

The sudden movement made Carol's body _jump_ , and her eyes flickered open as Sophia's had done earlier, and she smiled at her baby girl.

She watched her daughter through her crusted eyes that seemed to be glossed over with a foggy haze, and saw her staring back at her in a doe-eyed fashion, her lips down-turned as if she had done something wrong. With a groggy voice and small smile on her lips, she asked, "Ants in your pants?"

The little girls frown turned upside down in an instant, the blood rushed to the apples of her cheeks, and she hurried to hug her mother and enveloped her in a coat of arms. She felt her mothers' head deepen into her neck, and the tickle of her breath swiftly swiping against the edge of her neck, forcing her hair to stand on end.

"I love you so much baby," Carol whispered into the crook of Sophia's neck. She told herself she'd say it everyday for as long as they both shall live. And even after, Because nothing ever really fades in the afterlight.

"I love you, too," she whispered back.

Their arms dropped to their sides, and the two of them were left staring at each other. Mother and daughter, an old generation to its successor, and they saw the same thing: life. They were both still alive, and that's all that mattered.

"You jumped outta bed pretty quick..." Sophia knew her mother was prying, but Carol kept her smile. Sophia's stomach knotted, and she didn't know why. But she figured it had something to do with the boy and his sheriff hat. "Planin' on goin' somewhere?"

Sophia looked toward the window near the ceiling, where the light was showing through, and knew exactly where she wanted to be. "Out," she spoke.

Carol's brows came together, and her forehead crinkled in wonderment. "In your jammies?"

The young girl looked down and realized she was wearing her two-piece dingy flower-patterned pajamas, and was a few steps away from embarrassing herself to tears. She undressed and redressed quickly in something more fitting, more comfortable for what the world had became. A button up shirt, jeans, boots, and a not-so-comfortable knife in the small holster on her waist. Her mother won't allow her to leave without it.

"Be safe," her mother told her, and the girl gave her a nod and smile, and her tail was patted as she galloped out of the small, claustrophobic room, and into the main bowels of the prison where she found that it was as empty as it could've been. Well, except for Hershel's snoring.

"Where is everyone?" she muffled under her breath, and suddenly heard a laughter that was as swift as the air itself, echo throughout the prison.

She knew exactly who it belonged to.

With joy replacing her blood, she dashed out of the prison and to where the sun found her skin. It felt better than good. It felt better than great. It felt outstanding. It felt... greater than anything ever. It reminded her she was alive, just as the heart that steadily beat inside her chest. And then she spotted them, all the way down to where the gates were that kept the walkers separate from them. Death was right on their door step. There was Judith, with her hair in a single braid, and beads of sweat that made her golden skin glisten in the sun, and there was Daryl, too, loading things into the car before they went on their daily run for supplies. They were conversating about something, and Judith smiled. Maggie and Glenn were nowhere in sight, but their giggles could be heard from the tower where they watched out. 

Averting her gaze just a bit, Sophia saw, in the field, working alongside the man that had lead the way to this great place, Carl, on all fours, knees deep into the just-greening ground. He had his sheriff hat on, shirt unbuttoned to where his white t-shirt could be seen sticking like glue to his sun-kissed skin. He lifted himself, and Sophia had a sudden urge to hide, or cower away. But it was too late. He already spotted her. He waved and   stood to his feet as if he were as excited to see Sophia as she him.

It took a while for her to finally hear him, but his voice found its way to her. "Come on down!" he shouted, motioning her to come forth.

Her feet had a mind of their own, and before she knew it, she was moving on down and into the large field. In just seconds she was near Carl, and that feeling of sickness, anxiety, and eagerness all filled her and she   actually thought she might faint before Carl laid a steady hand on her. She mumbled a thanks and slightly pulled away from the boys' touch.

She figured he must've seen the paleness of her face, and the dizziness that marked her swaying body, because Carl grabbed his hat from atop his head, and he placed the cap on top of her blonde head. "This weather ain't nothing nice for a pretty girl like you..." He sounded almost a million years old when he spoke. Just like his father...

Sophia felt it, her cheeks burning like fire. The words stung her heart but cooled her soul.


	3. Doves in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just full of so many feels I have to write something that'll sooth my burning heart that desires so much love and affection! 
> 
> This little drabble takes place a few weeks after the events in "Dandelion in the Spring."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am compelled to write this chapter after being gone for so long. Sorry!
> 
> Whoever you are, thank you for at least visiting the page, and for giving my life purpose!
> 
> I'm finally out for Thanksgiving break and maybe I can update more often!

Sophia thought the blistering hot sun shining down on her neck was the worst thing ever, transforming her white skin to a dangerous shade of red, where she'd be subjected to an hour of bath time that was mixed with oatmeal. Her mother promised it'd work. But the only thing she accomplished was making Sophia feel icky all over.

Being it was the summer, the days were long, and the sun would be up until at least seven o'clock, and only then would it begin to set, and the beautiful colors that she remembered watching so lovingly when she were of a younger age would come out and play again. The colors, they calmed her. Whenever her mother and father would be fighting she'd run to her room, open her window, and will herself to jump off; to end the misery she was stuck inside. But the various shades of color in the sky; the yellows, the oranges, the pinks that bled into variants of red, they are what calmed her. They are what stopped her from offing herself. They are what told her that life could go on, no matter what. Looking up at the sky she felt like a dove. Free. Untamed. Not held down by the strings of life that choked its victims to death. The colors were her escape. And she ran as fast as she could.

Judith whistled, signaling that the long day of working was over. Finally, Sophia could release the breath of air she was holding in for so long, and she slumped over, defeated by the hard days work that'd overcome her. The beads of sweat that stained her forehead fell to the dark ground, and Sophia lifted herself to wipe away the salty liquid, and once her eyes focused to what was in front of her, only then did she realize that Walter, one of the few young kids still around, was standing in front of her, and she _jumped_. The boy giggled at her as she tried her best to regain her composure. Sophia fixed her shirt and stared daggers at him. "Don't sneak up on me!" she growled, punching the young boy on the shoulder. She swore she heard her knuckle pop. The slight pain there eased after a while.

Walter's mouth dropped, creating an 'O' shape, as if he were so surprised by Sophia's willingness to hit him. Or anyone, for that matter. "What was that for?" he asked, eyes bucked, mind blank as if his memory was wiped clean. He rubbed at his shoulder.

"That's for scarin' me, jackbutt!" she replied a bit more calmly, her breaths steadying, her chest a bit less heaving.

Walter couldn't help but laugh at her insult, and he took pride in gasping for oxygen. If it weren't beginning to get dark out, he'd be able to see Sophia's cheeks become red. Well, if he can't see her cheeks, maybe he can feel the heat radiating from them. The unsureness of the whole situation made Sophia turn on her heel and head for the inside.

She could only get a few steps, maybe three or four, before she felt his hand on her shoulder, and he twisted her around to face him with a quickness that made Sophia suck in a sharp breath. The sound of the many walkers moans and groans that surrounded the prison filled her ears as her and Walter stared at each other in silence. When they had met the Greene family at the farm, the same people that saved Carl, saved Walter, too. It was just after Shane initiated the incident that involved the slaughter of countless walkers inside the barn. He'd gone off the deep end. Perhaps they all were. But he was closest to the edge. Hershel had sunk into a deep depression that drove him to guzzle down liquor and spurt craziness from his lips. For a minute Sophia had thought Ed had returned. Rick and Glenn had gone into town a few miles out. They returned much later, with Hershel safe and sound, thankfully, but a new problem rose. It was a new boy whose blond hair was matted with sweat, and his leg was all kinds of messed up. Mangled would be a much better word. There was a gaping hole in it where he had gotten it stuck in a fence. She remembered the way his blue eyes were bloodshot, and there was a crazed look in them that she couldn't shake. Not when she closed her eyes, and not even when she kept them open. She saw the way they looked, all the time.

That same feeling she got when she had first seen him found its way back to her again. Butterflies was the only way to describe. But they weren't fluttering around in her stomach like innocent ones would. They were slamming against her chest, hitting various organs. They made her feel sick. They made her feel helpless. They made her feel like the world would never be safe again.

Walter's head hung low, and his blond hair that'd gotten longer covered his eyes. Sophia reached out with a steady hand, and shifted the ends of his hair to the side. His head shot up as if her touch had stung him, and his eyes were bearing into hers. For a moment, Sophia's hand wasn't on his hair, but his cheek that barely filled the cuff of her palm. They were gaunt, near hollow, and his facial bones could be seen. Food hadn't been coming in as often as they would like. Daryl blamed it on their lack of willingness to get out. Rick said it'd be better if everyone stayed safe for a while, until everything blew over. What that "everything" was Sophia didn't quite know, but she couldn't shake the connection it had to Lori. Perhaps Rick was still recovering from her loss. They all were. Judith and Carl were better at it than him, though.

Sophia snatched her hand away from his skin as if it'd burned her, and lowered her hand back to her side.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, but even though he was feeling an uneasiness in his stomach he was sure was caused by the girl in front of him, he couldn't manage to tear his eyes away from her.

Sophia shook her head, unaccepting of the apology, partly because she felt bad for him, and the other part of her blamed it on herself. She didn't know why exactly, but she did. "It's fine," she murmured.

Walter shook his head, too, unyielding his apology to go unanswered. "No," he said, "I was totally being a..." he trailed off, and tried his damnedest to suppress his laugh as he thought of the word "Jackbutt." And like that, an actual conversation was thrown out the window.

With her arms crossed, Sophia stomped into the prison with Walter a few feet behind her tail.

They both walked into the prisons cafeteria as one, everyone turning to watch them as their eyes scanned the area with an eagerness to escape sight. Sophia found Carl's blue hues staring back at hers, and she wanted to shrink back into herself, but she didn't possess the luxury to just disappear no matter how bad she wanted to at times.

She swallowed hard as her mother approached her with a plate of charred squirrels. Daryl wasn't the best cook, another plus of having Dale around, but he tried his best.

Sophia left Walter's side and took her tray to sit next to someone who she hadn't spoken to in a while. Her hair wasn't in its usual single braid, and Sophia rarely saw it that way. Her hair flowed down her back in brown ringlets. It was truly beautiful.

"Hi Judith," she started off, her voice timid, "is someone sitting here?" She eyed the metal seat.

Judith chewed and swallowed her food quick to answer. "No, not at all." She scooted over to provide room.

The young girl took her seat and only two bites of her food before she was full. The butterflies took up most of the space.

"Tomorrow," Judith began, swallowing the last of her food, "we're gonna learn how to shoot..."

The vagueness of the statement confused young Sophia, and forced her to think extra hard. She wondered if they had forgotten that she was just a little girl. Or if Carl had forgotten he was a boy. "Shoot what?"

She wasn't very enthusiastic about the reveal, and she looked sick answering, but it had to be said. "Guns." And then she was gone.

The spot Judith left was vacant for a moment, but in that small moment Sophia was allowed to catch her breath. The day was going to come sooner or later, she figured. Sooner it was.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw as her head hung low, someone fill Judith's spot. His shirt was red and plaid - a flannel. She knew exactly who it was.

"Sophia," he stated her name in a voice that worried her. She'd never heard it that way before. He sounded down and out. "Are you okay?"

She felt compelled to look up, to wipe her blonde hair from the side of her face that was acting as a curtain and look Carl directly in the eyes, and tell him that she was okay. She couldn't. Maybe it was the memory of seeing Walter for the first time, or the need to get away, but she just could not for the life of her look at him.

Carl wanted to reach for her face, make her look at him, and tell her that it'd be alright. No matter if he were lying to himself, or her, he just wanted to make her feel better. If she could look Walter right in the eyes, touch his hair, his cheek, why couldn't he will himself to do the same to her? The questions ate his beating heart.

He went to lift himself from the table and lumber back to his cell for some much needed sleep, but the hand that gripped his plaid arm stopped him. He looked down at Sophia with his brows brought in, and he watched as she lifted her own eyes to his. It was silent for a solid minute. And that minute was all he needed to make up his mind about her. He wondered how long it would be before her face was the last he saw when he closed his eyes.

She stared at his lips, and had an urge to _touch_ them. Feel them, at least. The more she stared the sicker she got.

"Goodnight," she said tight-lipped, released Carl's arm, and turned away from him.

He stared at her for what felt like forever. He saw her staring at his lips, and wondered if she caught him doing the same to her.


	4. Red is the Color: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I gained a couple of feels while writing about that Walter character... Big deal, right? Yeah, pretty big, actually.
> 
> I don't know, I just feel like I should dive into this character more. He's interesting, given he replaces the character in The Walking Dead (TV Series) Randall, who crossed paths with the group in season 2, whose life they saved at the saloon against others wishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to start off saying how sorry I am now for destroying your heart with this. Can you please forgive me?

His back slammed into the wall, hard, and he was sure he heard a mirror crash to the ground in the other room. Pain resonated through Walter, along with many other things, like hurt, betrayal, and hate. His blood was no longer flowing with a softness that soothed him, it was a fast free flowing sea of fire and it burned everything in its path. Pain was the least of his worries, though; his mothers safety was what he wanted to know for sure. His father and her had had many fights before; ones that started off as just talks, progressed into screaming matches, and ended with kicks to the stomach and punches to the face. Walter had almost always been at the end each and every one of them. This particular night was no different...

His face was bruised and battered, he was sure of it. And it had to be puffy, too, because every second he endured the hits, he could feel another part of his face swell, and could barely see out of his eyes. All he saw was the monster in front of him, face as red as a tomato, breath as loud as a brewery, and rage as hot as the sun. His teeth were clutched together, and his fist was clenched shut. Several hits to the stomach sent Walter to the ground, a cry from his lips were what released the blood from his mouth, and he had stained the carpet floor. This seemed to make his father angrier, because what would usually be the end was only the beginning. The man picked Walter up off the ground by his collar and slung him onto the bed where Walter landed on his back. He thought the cushion, which was his mattress, would somehow break his fall, make it _easier_ , or at least bearable, but it hurt just the same. His father arrived on the right side of the bed and lumbered toward Walter, tall and brooding. His eyes were locked in on his face, but his hands gripped at his neck. The boy began to struggle against his fathers' hand, and tried to push him off, but the more he fought, the tighter his grip got. Death was all he could think about, and how close he was to it.

"Michael! Michael!" Walter heard his mother screaming for his father. She sounded out of breath, and was wheezing. She could've been a fish out of water and Walter wouldn't even know the difference. "Michael, please!"

His fathers grip had lessened on his neck, which allowed Walter to look at his mother, study her face long enough to notice the blood smeared on her thin lips, the fresh bruises underneath her eyes that appeared as miniature galaxies. Compared to him, it looked as if his father had shown mercy on her. But he wondered if she realized just how pretty she still looked. That's probably the reason why his father left him and went to beat on her some more. She looked too recognizable. He had to make her look different in some way. He had to make her see that she'd never look the same when he'd finish with her. Or the punishment would be for nothing.

Walter couldn't move, he couldn't yell. He was stunned. The beating was so bad it had stunned him, and he couldn't cry, either. He wanted to cry. He wanted to bawl his eyes out. But he couldn't. It's as if his father had taken every ounce of energy he possessed and ripped it out of him. His father had already stolen everything else from him: his childhood, his life, his shot at any kind of happiness. He was a thief - a stone cold thief. He took without worry, he ran without fear, he walked without care for any of his loved ones that were near.  He was as worthy as a man that stood behind a jail cell. He was as truthful as a politician on television. To Walter, his father was as good as dead.

His mother was in the middle of shouting his fathers' name again before she was cut short and her two front teeth were knocked out. His father took a clump of her blonde hair that was tangled in knots, and drug her down the staircase, her knees hitting against every wooden step. Walter willed himself to stand. He couldn't just lie there, no matter how much his body ached, and face hurt, and allow his mother to take a beating without some sort of intervention.

He stepped off his bed, but couldn't take one more without his knees buckling underneath him, and he fell to the ground. So he dragged himself to his door, and followed the blood stains to where they lead his eyes down the staircase, and the small fight there had left smudges of blood on the floor, and a streak leading to the next room. He heard his mother scream, and knew he had to move quick, because he was sure that if a few more minutes went by she'd be dead.

"Don't touch her!" yelled Walter, holding his stomach. The rattle his voice left had hurt for some reason. It couldn't be good. He heard more screaming, and he opened his lips to form words, but the inside of him began to throb, and he was forced to cry out himself. He tugged toward the top step, and threw himself off, flying down the staircase, tumbling head over feet until he reached the bottom, and he was incapacitated.

His mother and fathers' voice drowned out around him, and he knew that they were both close. Their voices seemed louder at points, and low at others. He couldn't tell if his father was approaching him, or if he was somehow dragging himself closer to them. He felt the floor underneath him bumping as if someone were playing loud music nearby, but it was just his mother being thrown across the room. He was sure of it. His eyes flickered open from the darkness that had met them for a moment, and was seeing stars twinkling, and birds chirping not too far from his reach Blinking his blue orbs rapidly, he managed to gain his sight back. Although not perfect, it was better than it was before. He saw two of everything, and when he stood his knees buckled, but he had to railing of the staircase to support him. He limped into the next room, and watched as his father held his mothers' neck. The death grip he had on it could not be missed. Her face was bulging and red, the bruises underneath her eyes were blue, and her lips were a dangerous deep shade of purple.

Fury boiled inside him. It made him sick how fast he could become so angry. But the monster had created the monster. And this monster couldn't be contained.

He got a running start and tackled his father to the ground, and everything went black.

He lifted from the bed, face stained with beads of sweat, and chest heaving. He was slumped over, eyes focused on his feet. He felt like a wilted flower, drained of energy by what he'd just witnessed. The wind that blew in from his opened window provided the sustenance he needed to breathe again. After a while, the warm sweat on him became cold, and he had to do something about it, so he threw the sheets off the lower half of his body, and waddled toward the window to close it. Locking it shut, the sound of something small, perhaps something breaking, rung in Walter's ear. He turned toward his door, eyes shooting toward it. He was frozen by fear, the blackness of the corner seeming to grow larger and larger, and he was sure his pupils were dilating. He slid over to the nightstand beside his bed, and there, where he pulled out his drawer, was an early "third generation" Glock 17 at his finger tips.

After his father had beaten him and his mother nearly to death, the police had arrived from a call that there was a "disturbance" in the area. Whoever had called, Walter was thankful for, because his father was put away in the state prison for three years on multiple battery charges. He thought three years was a long time. Three years without being talked down to, beaten, kicked around, told what to do. It _felt_ like a long time, but it wasn't. He was out, and liked to visit. He peered through the window, mostly, but it was enough for Walter to see his face and piss his pants. The closes he came to actually making contact with his father was when he had gotten drunk, and was banging on the door relentlessly. He was going on about how sorry he was, how he made so many mistakes in the past, and about how they should just get over it. Walter told him that he'd count to three, and if he wasn't off their porch at the last count, then he'd blow his goddamn head off. The pounding had stopped then. He was drunk, but he had enough sense not to mess with the boy he'd destroyed.

"Mom?" Walter called for his mother with caution, making his way toward the door with heedful steps. "Mom?" he called out again, quiet like before.

Quickly, he opened the door, pointed the gun with his finger on the trigger, and found himself aiming the barrel of it directly at the wall across from his room. No one was there. He let out a sigh of relief, and blamed it on his mind playing tricks on him again. Why wouldn't it? It's been hit so many times before. He figured there would be a malfunction once in a while.

Suddenly, he heard glass crash to the ground, his mothers' scream that he'd become all too familiar with coming from somewhere down below, and he took off in a dash down the staircase. Her voice was echoing throughout the house, bouncing off the walls, but he could will himself to focus on it hard enough to find her. He learned it over the years, to find her voice through the sea of others. Besides school, it was the most useful thing he'd ever taught himself.

"Mom!" he screamed out as he entered into her room, and watched her be devoured by something... not human. It was spilling a mysterious goo from his mouth, and it included his mothers' blood.

Her big blue eyes found his, and they were telling him to save her.

Two shots rang out, and the creature fell to the floor, and seemed to squeal, or something equivalent to it. On the ground, it broke out in a dance of convulsions, but it wasn't done. It was still alive, kicking and biting, grabbing at the sheets to lift itself. Walter only meant to pull the trigger twice, but his finger kept on pulling, and by the time it was over, all the ammo was gone. He was shooting blanks, with the barrel still pointed down at the thing. He pictured his father at the end of it. He wished his father was at the end of it.

It wasn't until his mother had wheezed his name did Walter remember she was there. He kneeled down beside her, and tried his best to block the blood pouring from her throat. He knew it was of no use, because he could see the life in her eyes draining. "I'm sorry, mom," he whispered, and laid his forehead on her chest.

She patted the back of his head because it was all she could do.

Walter allowed two hot tears to fall before he remembered what caused him the pain that was quickly taking him over.

Standing from his mothers side, the boy averted his attention to _thing_ that had taken her away. It was grey, and skinny, and looked to be decomposing. It's closed were tattered, and if seeing what he thought he was seeing, Walter could see a chunk of his leg that appeared to be chewed off. It wreaked of death, which was something Walter was used to. He took the butt end of the gun and smashed it into its head. But even cracking its skull wasn't enough. He had to do more. He had to cause it as much pain as it had caused him. He began beating on it more, stomping on its chest, its guts spilling forth. Walter's tears became mixed with sweat, and he was tired, but he kept fighting. It was the only thing left that he could do.

All of a sudden, his mother lunged at him, and pinned him to the ground, her mouth inches from his throat, and he wondered what kind of monster she had become.


End file.
